[FridayFlash] The Portrait
There are some stories that seem to have no logical origin at all as you’re writing them, and then there are stories that make their inspiration very clear. This is one of those stories for me, and I imagine anyone who knows me very well at all will be able to figure out what planted the seed for this little tribute. It’s a bit more than 1,000 words, but sometimes that’s just how things go. Anyway, Happy Friday to you all. Hope you enjoy.
THE PORTRAIT
The young man was growing restless. He could see his friends across the way, already admiring their own portraits. In this part of Montmartre, there were dozens of sketch artists waiting to pounce on tourists for as many euros as they could swindle. His eyes refocused on the artist, and the look on her wizened face startled him. It was piercing, as if she were trying to see his soul. He opened his mouth to stutter out a syllable or two, but her eyes were back on the paper before they managed to leave his throat. She made exactly three more marks and then nodded.
“Fini,” she said. She unclipped the paper from easel, rolled it up into a cylinder, and then handed it to him. “Voilà.”
“Merci,” he said. She started packing up. Night had fallen whilst he’d sat for the portrait. He unrolled the paper as he walked toward his friends. The image on the paper made him stop in his tracks. The face staring back at him was angular and jarring, nothing like his own, which still bared traces of adolescent roundness. He searched for his own features, but found none. The eyes were dark, much darker than they should have been, even in the charcoal medium. They certainly didn’t depict the almost ice-blue eyes staring down at them. This wasn’t even caricature. He saw no trace of himself at all in the portrait, and he felt his cheeks flushing red. He turned back to the woman.
“Excuse me,” he said. She stared at him blankly. “Sorry, excusez-moi.” Her look became one of impatience.
“Quoi?”
“Um, ce n’est pas… correcte. It’s not me.” He pointed at the paper, and then he pointed at his face, shaking his head.
The woman gave him a mocking smile. She pointed at the paper and then patted his face. “La même chose.” She winked at him and then hobbled away, carrying her easel and supplies with her. The young man grimaced. He didn’t like being had, but what could he do? He sighed, called her something cruel under his breath, and walked over to join his friends.
“Let’s see it,” the pretty girl said.
“It’s not very good,” he explained. “Really. I got gypped.”
“Oh, come on.” She made a grab for the paper. He pulled away, but then she smiled and tilted her head in such a way that there was no possible way he could refuse. He rolled his eyes and handed it over. She unrolled it and examined it closely. Her eyes went wide.
He forced a laugh. “See? I told you it was terrible.”
“What are you talking about? This looks just like you. This is way better than mine.”
“Let me see.” Another boy reached for it, and she handed to him. “Whoa. Man, I wish I’d gone to her.”
“Stop kidding around, guys. I’m pissed enough as it is.”
“We’re not kidding,” the girl insisted.
The young man reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He slid his driver’s license from the plastic and held it up to the portrait.
“You’re saying these two pictures both look like me.”
“Yeah! It’s uncanny,” the girl said. He searched her eyes. No sign of teasing or sarcasm.
He looked to the other boy, who was nodding emphatically. “You’re being way too hard on her, dude. This is a great picture. You’re going to have to get it framed.” To the young man’s dismay, there was complete earnestness in his expression as well.
The young man spotted their adviser across the way, chatting animatedly with a shop owner. He grabbed the paper from the boy’s hands and walked through them toward their teacher, leaving them dumbfounded in his wake.
“Mr. Hallward?” the young man called.
The teacher finished up his conversation with the shop owner with a polite nod and a smile. “What can I do for you, son?”
“I got this sketch done of me –”
“Yes, I saw. Your artist certainly took her time, didn’t she?” He chuckled, which did nothing to better the young man’s mood. “Let’s see if it was worth the wait.”
He unfurled the paper for his teacher. Again, the widened eyes. “Wow. Not too often you run across this sort of talent here. You didn’t catch her name, did you?”
The young man’s face screwed up in anger and confusion. “Are you guys all playing some sort of joke on me? Because it’s not very funny.”
“What do you mean?”
“This isn’t me!” the young man cried, more fervently than he’d meant to. Half in outrage, half in embarrassment, he grabbed the paper and stomped away. He heard his professor call after him, but he only quickened his steps. Once he was a safe distance away, he slowed his pace. He walked into a restaurant and asked the hostess for directions to the bathroom. She pointed him around the corner. He pushed a few small coins into the pay slot and stepped inside.
He bent over against the sink in front of the mirror. His reflection stared back at him. Impulsively, he slammed the now slightly crumpled portrait up against the mirror. His eyes darted back and forth between the two.
A stall door opened, startling him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said, his voice accented.
“How did you know I –”
The man motioned to the portrait as he washed his hands. “A Parisian wouldn’t have one of those.” He smiled, and the young man quickly rolled the paper back up, embarrassed. “Wait a minute,” the man said. He reached to smooth the paper back out, and the young man let him, his face full of hope and fear. The man let out a low whistle. “Impressive. Looks just like you.” The young man looked to the portrait and then to the mirror once again as the other man exited. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow. He quickly rolled up the portrait, hid it in his jacket, and exited the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, the professor and the young man’s friends found him sitting on a bench outside the restaurant. In front of him, a few embers glowed on the sidewalk. He paid them no mind, instead choosing to fiddle with a matchbook bearing the name of the establishment outside which he was sitting.
“Hey, we’ve been looking all over for you,” the girl said, bringing him out of his reverie. He stood, stamping out the last of the embers into ashes.
“Sorry,” he said. “Just needed some air. Is it time to head back?”
The professor nodded. “We’re late,” he said, his voice curt. “The other group’ll be waiting for us.”
The young man walked past him back in the direction of their hotel, pocketing the book of matches. The professor’s clenched his jaw shut and followed, his years of experience having taught him to pick and choose his battles. The girl and the other boy exchanged nervous glances, each clutching their own portraits to their sides. They walked in silence.
© Elizabeth Ditty 2009
Ruminations on A Doll’s House
There are certain things I miss about school. One is the opportunity to truly delve into an analysis of literature. It’s something that’s hard to do in a vacuum and without guidance. Outside of school, there are few places of which I’m aware in which to discuss literature at an academic level and fewer places where any sort of essay would find an audience.
However, since I have neither the time nor the money to go back to school for a master’s in English literature at the moment, and since I have this little blog here that’s all my own, I’m going to start posting a bit of literary analysis from time to time. I welcome anyone and everyone to weigh in on the concepts, whether you’ve read the work in question or not. Of course, there will likely be spoilers in all of these Literary Analysis posts, so proceed with caution if you care.
There are stories that retain a sort of permanence of themes and reactions in my life, and then there’s Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House. I’ve now read this play three times: first in high school, again in college, and just recently after my 18-year-old sister raved about it. Her reaction was entirely different than my own at that age, so I figured I owed it another shot.
In high school, I hated Nora for her lack of independence, feeling she’d brought her troubles upon herself. You teach people how to treat you, after all.
In college, I hated Nora for her lack of moral values. Her seemingly flippant and selfish abandonment of her husband and children was practically blasphemous to me.
Now, I offer you this.
In Defense of Nora Helmer
A Doll’s House is an exploration in how identity influences the way we relate to people. Nora’s upbringing is a little murky, but it’s clear she grew up in a household with problems. Her father apparently had legal or financial issues that Torvald was able to ameliorate, more or less in exchange for Nora’s hand in marriage. As a child and a young woman, she was never encouraged to think for herself, and she never really sought to. Life was prettier and easier on the surface; let someone else deal with the dark underbelly. Nora’s strength was in her heart, not her mind. Her actions at the end of the play might lead a casual reader to believe otherwise, but Nora is a warning in what happens when a person focuses all devotion and care on others without ever learning to know oneself.
Without the drama of life with her father, Nora settles into a comfortable but entirely superficial existence. Her relationship with Torvald is superficial: she’s an entertainment to him, not a companion. Her relationship with her children is superficial: she’s a playmate, not a caretaker. Her relationship with Dr. Rank is superficial: she’s an object to him, not a friend. Her life is all show and no substance — until Torvald is taken ill, that is.
She jumps at the chance to do something real, something with consequence, something that is completely and utterly her own doing. However, because she does not have the savvy to do the research (she’s never had to do such a thing before), she forges a signature to procure a loan, not realizing how serious a grievance that is. Still, there’s something of a delight for her in having a deep, dark secret. It gives her roots. There’s nothing superificial about owing creditors and having to sneak money from one’s husband, and she thrives on it. She also takes great pride in and credit for having sacrificed to save her husband’s life.
Even so, Nora is never truly in danger until Krogstad arrives. The feeling of actual danger, of being able to do nothing to keep one’s life from being ripped away, throws her into a frenzy unlike anything she’s ever experienced. The little deception isn’t fun anymore. She doesn’t understand why no one is playing along. It is through this that she begins to understand that, not only is there a world outside of her little life, but that she has no idea how it works. And that realization causes her to see the cracks in the foundation of her own house.
Through most of the third act, we are led to believe that Nora is considering suicide because she is afraid to face up to the consequences. Something I missed in my first two read-throughs, or at least something that didn’t hit quite like it did in my third, is that she was doing it for Torvald, not for herself. She was throwing herself on the pyre to save Torvald’s reputation. She was willing to sacrifice her life as a final act of devotion to Torvald. She fully expected him to still love her, to still want her, perhaps even more so for what she’d done and what she’d been through. She was certain he would protect her. And because of her faith in Torvald’s love, she was willing to put forth the ultimate sacrifice to save him.
But when it comes down to it, Torvald lets her down — and in the worst possible way. In the moments between when he reads Krogstad’s first letter of demands and when he sees Krogstad’s second letter recalling the first, Torvald essentially shuns Nora, says his love for her is gone, but they’ll have to stay together to keep up appearances. To add insult to injury, he tells her she won’t be able to see her children, that she’s not fit to raise them. There is no concern for her whatsoever; he is only interested in damage control. That he could turn on her so quickly and then turn back with a snap of his fingers is all the proof Nora needs to prove that she knows nothing about anything at all. The thing of which she was most sure in the world — Torvald’s love — was nothing but a sham.
Knowing this, she chooses to move forward with eyes open. She realizes she knows nothing, and she’s not content with that. She chooses to stand on her own, to think, to question, to learn. In short, she chooses to become a full person, and an adult one at that. There is no sin in this. The only real criticism that can be leveled at Nora is the manner in which she chooses to pursue these goals.
Throughout the play, Nora is shown to be rather impulsive, whether its her proclivity for sneaking macaroons or her quick-changing emotions. In the final moments of the play, she is no different. She takes little time to think about the consequences of her actions on others, perhaps for fear that she would talk herself out of leaving. She dashes any hope for reconciliation and essentially declines the opportunity for Torvald to make any amends whatsoever. Her words toward Torvald border on cruel, but they are no worse than what he inflicted on her only moments earlier. He shattered her world, and, while her coldness toward him is not exactly virtuous, it’s certainly understandable.
Personally, my only real, unresolvable qualm is her abandonment of her children. Without the benefit of knowing the basics of child psychology, it’s understandable how she justifies this. It’s my hope that, in the fictional world of life beyond the last pages of A Doll’s House, Nora comes to realize that her children do need to know her and that she does have something to offer them, and that something is worked out to that end.
Having significantly more life experience under my belt than the last time I read it, and, frankly, quite a different worldview, I was much more able to identify with Nora. The choice to give up the life you imagined for yourself is never an easy one, no matter how right it is. Seeing the cracks in the façade is painful, and realizing they stem from the foundation itself is downright heartbreaking. Patches can be applied to hide the damage, but things can only get worse until the entire house begins to crumble. Nora realizes she can either die as the home collapses upon her, or she can get out and rebuild. She makes the brave and difficult choice. She doesn’t do it perfectly, but she does it the best she can. And I can no longer fault her for that.
Recap: 20 September 2009
Did someone speed up time? I swear it was July only a week or two ago, and now we’re 9 days and a few hours away from October? That, my friends, is just crazy.
I spent a portion of my weekend writing a five-page scene for the Cyberspace Open. It was an interesting experience. I’ve done a couple of short scene contests before via The Rouge Wave (now Just F*ing’ Entertain Me), but those scenes were always a story in and of themselves. This weekend’s contest asked us writers to create a scene from a script that doesn’t yet exist. Here’s the prompt.
“Your PROTAGONIST is in a jam. He (or she) had been relying on deception in order to further his objective, but his ENEMY has figured out the ruse. Write the scene in which your protagonist’s LOVE INTEREST confronts him with this information acquired from the enemy – while staging it in a tricky or dangerous situation.”
So, we basically had to come up with an entire movie idea, envision the entire arc of the story for those three characters, and then write the All is Lost moment (to use Blake Snyder’s terminology), which would occur somewhere about two-thirds of the way into the movie. Or at least that’s how I interpreted the situation.
I started out trying to come up with tricky/dangerous situations that would make for interesting settings. I came up with a few, but I couldn’t come up with a viable story. It wasn’t until I laid down to go to sleep that night that my brain started drifting toward characters. I jotted down an idea for some characters on the notepad I keep by my bed, and — voilà — I had my story. The setting is what I like to call a creative take on the tricky/dangerous situation (did I mention my minor was in public relations?), but it’s the best I could do as a character-driven writer in the time I had to do it. At least at this point in my life. If nothing else, I’ve got a scene written for a potential screenplay that I actually would like to write at some point, regardless of how it does in the competition.
So that’s what I’ve been writing. Now, here’ s…
What I Watched
- Melinda & Melinda (3 stars): Another foray into Woody Allen territory. In this film, two writers, one of comedies and one of tragedies, interpret one set of circumstances into two different stories, which we get to see on screen. It’s an interesting idea, all bent on tackling the questions, “Is life a tragedy or a comedy? And why do we gravitate toward either in our entertainment?” The film is sort of an experiment in and of itself, and, while it doesn’t always succeed in outright entertainment, I thought it was an amusing and thought-provoking piece.
- Interview (2 stars): There’s one thing I hate in movies, and that is characters with no arc whatsoever. I hate it when people end up in the same place they began having learned nothing at all. And that’s more or less what happens here. That being said, the performances by Sienna Miller and Steve Buscemi are very, very good. But when the characters don’t know what to take from an experience, neither do I as a viewer.
- Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement (3 stars): Garry Marshall created a product here perfect for the intended audience: tween girls. And apparently me. Not much to say about this one. It’s fun and airy and nice to look at.
- Blue (4 stars): The first installment in director Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Three Colors trilogy, the story follows a woman who tries to live life with no attachments following the loss of her husband and daughter in a car accident. This is the very definition of a character-driven movie. There’s not much plot, per se, but it’s a brilliant character study. Juliette Binoche is phenomenal here. She doesn’t have much dialog, but she doesn’t need it. Everything we need to know is on her face and in her eyes.
- Coffee & Cigarettes (2 stars): And that’s generous, frankly. This is a series of unlinked vignettes starring various actors, celebrities, musicians, etc., all talking about rather banal material whilst enjoying coffee and cigarettes. There are a few rather enjoyable vignettes (Cate Blanchett’s piece is interesting, Jack and Meg White’s piece is amusing, and Steve Coogan and Alfred Molina’s bit is the best part), but the rest are, for the most part, just plain boring. Maybe I’m missing something, but I felt this was a punishment for enjoying Princess Diaries 2 as much as I did.
- Twelfth Night (2 stars): Twelfth Night is my favorite of Shakespeare’s comedies that I’ve read. And this adaptation should have been great because the source material is great. But they made some truly unfortunate interpretations, specifically regarding the portrayals of Malvolio, Sir Andrew, and Feste. Much of the humor and tongue-in-cheek nature of the play was lost in this adaptation. What remained was a whirlwind drama. I remember having enjoyed it before I read the play, but seeing it now was just a huge letdown.
- Jennifer’s Body (3 stars): If you’re looking for Diablo Cody hate, you certainly won’t find it here. I thoroughly enjoyed Juno, and I’d be watching United States of Tara if I had Showtime (saw the pilot and loved it). And you know what? If the girl wants to write a campy horror movie, then why the hell shouldn’t she? Now that that’s out of the way, as a campy horror movie, Jennifer’s Body delivers exactly what you’d expect. It’s fun, creepy, perhaps not as scary as it could have been, but overall, it’s a solid enough horror comedy for me. It’s a film that knows what it is and doesn’t try to be anything else.
That’s all for now, folks. Have a lovely week. 
[FridayFlash] A Love Story
Thought I’d try my hand at #fridayflash since it’s about time to start warming up for NaNoWriMo. Just a quick little character study piece. I’m taking part in the Screenwriting Expo’s Cyberspace Open this weekend, so I didn’t want to get into anything too involved here. Hoping to have something a little more story-like next week. Anyway, have a good weekend, everyone!
It was a beautiful wedding. I know everyone says that, but it’s actually true in this case. And even if it weren’t, no one would dare argue with me because, firstly, it was my wedding, and secondly, I’m 87 years old and no one wants to excite me for fear of stressing my heart to its breaking point. It’s because of that second fact that the wedding even happened. Sure, there were a few hesitant questions from wilting flowers who thought I was being swindled.
“Are you sure she loves you?” they’d asked whilst wringing their hands and staring at me in a way I’m sure they thought was meaningful instead of simpering.
How does a person answer that anyway? Is anyone ever sure that another person sincerely loves them? Of course not. It’s a leap of faith, or maybe even turning a blind eye, but there’s never certainty, and it’s a fool’s errand to expect it. The truth of the matter is, if you’re not miserable, then who cares? Nonetheless, I’d always answer that question in the confident affirmative because I knew it’d make them feel better, and I’m not here to cause anyone pain when I can avoid it.
What I’d love to tell them but never would is that I know very well my new bride doesn’t love me. And I don’t care. I don’t love her either. We’re performing a service for each other. We’re symbionts. I get an aesthetically pleasing, intelligent companion with whom to spend the remainder of my days, few as they may be. She gets a provider of both financial wealth and the wisdom that can only come with the number of years I’ve lived. She should not be vilified for this, and I should not be made out to be a senile old man. But we will be.
People can’t let go of the fairytale, I guess. They can’t understand that we are simply two realistic people who know what we want. Valuing these cerebral things over hormonal attraction — which is scientifically proven to fade for most couples after two years, by the way — should not make us outcasts. And yet, we’re happy to sacrifice social acceptance, too. What we lack by way of a passionate affair we more than make up for in mutual and devoted respect for each other. “Mutual and devoted respect.” Hm. You know, that doesn’t sound so different from love after all.
© Elizabeth Ditty 2009
Recap: 8 September 2009
So, it’s been a while. Sorry about that. It’s been a busy few weeks, and I actually haven’t even seen that many movies, compared to my usual intake. But, after a creative glut last week, culminating in 8 hours of rewriting/editing/tweaking yesterday, I hereby declare this week CONSUMPTION WEEK. As in book/movie/TV show consumption. Not tuberculosis.
What I Wrote
I spent last week (and the weeks prior) working on ‘TIL DEATH PARTS US. It’s been an interesting journey. All my normal readers are having the opposite reactions to my work that they usually do. Those who generally like my stuff haven’t liked this. Those who are usually meh about my stuff have liked this better. Frankly, I was really thrown because I’ve really enjoyed this script. But anywho, I’ve taken the advice I thought would improve the script whilst still staying true to the heart of the story I’m trying to tell, and we’ll see what happens. I submitted it to the Screenwriting Expo contest last night after burning the midnight oil to finish tweaking and do one last read-through. Once that’s done, I’ll probably send it off to The Script Department or Lucy V to see if they can make heads & tails of it when my friends couldn’t.
What I Watched
- Inglourious Basterds (5 stars): Quentin Tarantino’s masterpiece. My experience with QT is actually limited to the Kill Bill movies, which I enjoyed (Vol. 2 more than Vol. 1). Much to my surprise, QT seemed rather reigned in with this film, in a good way. Where Kill Bill was often about the spectacle, Basterds was more character-focused. And this film is a master class in building tension, by the way. It’s worth noting that this movie plays out as a fairytale; it’s what we wish would have happened, so don’t go in expecting anything resembling a history lesson. It’s a gorgeous film, too, with excellent performances. I’d venture to say it’s definitely worth a trip to the theatre even if you’re not usually a QT fan.
- Secretary (4 stars): Wrapped inside this dark tale of a sadist boss and his masochist secretary is an incredibly sweet and affirming love story. It asks some excellent questions. What’s normal? Is abnormal bad? Does being abnormal mean being alone and unhappy? Fair warning, it’s a bizarre film, and it’s a very dark film, but I adored it. Also, if you didn’t have a thing for James Spader (or Maggie Gyllenhall, for that matter) before this movie, you likely will after. Just saying.
- Love Me If You Dare (4 stars): If Amélie were a twisted dark romantic comedy instead of a whimsical fairytale, this would be it. Starring Marion Cotillard of La Vie En Rose (amusingly, a song which plays as a recurring theme in this film) & Public Enemies fame and Guillaume Canet of the fantastic Joyeux Noël, it’s the story of two childhood best friends who play an escalating game of dares throughout the course of their lives. I actually went to amazon to purchase this right after watching it, but it’s not available. So, if you’re a lucky Netflix subscriber and a fan of either Amélie or dark romantic comedies, check it out.
- Extract (3½ stars): That extra ½ star might be more out of sentimentality for writer/director Mike Judge and Jason Bateman, but it’s my blog and I can do what I want. Extract is not as good as Office Space (could anything be?), but it’s better than Idiocracy (which I didn’t hate). Jason Bateman’s character Joel is a really pathetic version of Arrested Development’s Michael. Really, really, really pathetic. So much so that the amount of pity you feel for him starts to boil over into downright annoyance at how pathetic he is. That’s the main problem with the film. But it’s Jason Bateman, so it never quite crosses the line where you’re willing to give up on him. The supporting cast is lovely as well, and there are some great moments. Definitely one to catch on DVD if not in theatres.
- Divorce American Style (2½ stars): This 1967 film started out really interesting but never quite lived up to its premise. It gets a little complicated, but the basic idea is this: Man and Woman get pushed into divorce via bad advice from friends and lawyers; Man and Woman see other people and get pushed into relationships via selfish motives of other divorcés; Man and Woman end up thrown together via coincidental circumstances, forcing them to acknowledge feelings left unresolved. The film should have played as dark comedy (hm, I’m starting to see a theme in my picks over the past couple of weeks…), but instead it dissolved into an unfortunate melodrama in which I ended up annoyed at everybody. That being said, in the right hands, this one might make for an interesting present-day remake.
What I’m Reading
Did I ever mention I finished The Witch of Portobello
Now I’m reading a fascinating novel called A Rebours
(I’m very jealous of all you folks in the UK who have the opportunity to see DORIAN GRAY tomorrow. Here’s hoping this one gets picked up for U.S. distrib at TIFF.)
That’s it. Have a lovely week.
